The inside apartment is rather small and cramped, the living room being big enough for a small two seating couch and a flat screen T.V., which is really the only expensive object in the house aside from Alaura's computer equipment. The living room merges into the kitchen, separated by a small bar that possesses a kitchenette and a small refrigerator for cooking and storing groceries. There are two rooms, one for both Alaura and John.

Alaura's room:

Alaura's is rather trashy, wrappers of candy and old pizza boxes simply thrown about, the only clean space being around her computer - which consists of six monitors set up on branches that each have 12 inch screens, linked together so as to multitask. Her room consists of a single mattress that's barely elevated off of the floor, something she hardly complains about.

John's room:

A relatively clean area. A twin bed with white sheets and a plane wooden frame is in the corner with a small dresser next to it, a lamp on top of it. Across from his bed is a medium sized wooden dresser with various articles of clothing, as well as a rusty switchblade kept in one of the drawers. On top of it, as well as in various places around the room (corners, floor, under the bed, in the table) are all sorts of books.

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Well, this was just another day in the life of cyber crime. Alaura sat at her computer desk, dressed in nothing but excessive shorts and a tank top, her fingers rapidly "takking" across the keyboard in a distorted blur of speed and precision, moving at well over one hundred words a minute as she continued her work. Hacking the network to a local bank wasn't all that hard, nor was making it look like she was never there. A multitude of boxes appeared on each of the six screens, constantly closing only to be replaced with new ones in what seemed like a never ending cycle as her fingers worked the keys. She figured she'd borrow a few bucks, make the disappearance of cash look like a system error and then erase all signs of the account being accessed by her. A simple task, done within a matter of moments as the last of the boxes closed with only one remaining. One showing a transaction of about five-thousand dollars being wired into an offshore account.

Truth be told, if she ever wanted to move into a bigger place then she was perfectly able. Money clearly wasn't an issue, but she wanted to be smart about it. All she needed was her computer system, which, at this point, cost more than the apartment she was living in. Leaning back in her computer chair she lifted her arms above her head to stretch, yawning in the process. Five grand should be enough to her and her roommate for a decent while, and if it didn't it wouldn't be a problem to get anymore. Shrugging to herself as she glanced over a few chatboxes that were open in the bottom right hand screen of her set up - being chats related to various sites that were in the underground web - she reached over and grabbed an two-day old piece of pizza and brought it to her lips, taking a rather large bite off of the crust.

Last night wasn't the most pleasant experience. Dogs were his one weakness; no amount of concealing his steps or hiding in the shadows could prevent them from smelling him. Rubbing the sewn teeth marks on his forearm (still soar), he stretched himself before getting out of bed.

Tucking in the sheets, he grabbed the shirt from the night before and put it on himself, not bothering to button it. With the blood stains on the arm and the large portion of sleeve missing, it would be headed for the trash soon enough. Guarding his upper body from bacon grease would be its final task.

Exiting the room, closing the door quietly so as not to wake anyone still sleeping (though, even by lazy standards, most people would be awake at this point). Entering the kitchen, he inspected the contents of the refrigerator: Four eggs in a carton, most of a jug of milk, bacon set to dethaw last night, a jar of strawberry jam, and three pieces of bread (two heals). He'd have to do some shopping later, but this was, conveniently enough, everything needed for breakfast that morning.

He went about preparing everything, whisking the eggs together with milk and pepper, toasting the bread, and pressing the bacon flat in the pan. After flipping the meat and putting the eggs in to cook, he exited the kitchen and walked down the hall, knocking on the door across from his. "Breakfast is cooking. Get up." Sniffing the air outside the room, the stench having reached a new level to the point where physical barriers could no longer contain it, he added, "And clean your room. It smells like a bathroom where a guy has a heart attack on the toilet, and no one finds him for a week because they assume the smell is a normal thing since this place doesn't have good quality standards, so the body rots over a full toilet with probably a diaper, or something, laying on floor from when a kid needed changing." He paused. "You smell like Speedway, is what I mean."

The various chatrooms were alive and kicking, filled with dozens of hackers similar to her as they tossed messages back and forth, all of which were overlooked by her ever-watchful eye as she took another bite out of the crust in her hand. It was a boring conversation to say the least, the majority of them trying their hand at trolling and flame baiting other chat members, while a few - obviously people new to the hacking experience - were actually trying to ask legit questions in order to progress their skills.

A dull and boring day, as always it seemed. She was about to take another bite of the pizza crust when a knock on her door drew some attention. It was John, and he was getting onto her about the mess in her room....at this early in the morning. Why couldn't he sleep in for once and stop the nagging? Honestly, she wasn't a child.

That...metaphor was rather unique, or something like that. Then again, this was about normal for him. "You keep telling me that," She paused, getting out of her chair to stretch, "but does it ever work?" She gave a final yawn before wading through the piles of trash to step out the door, closing the door behind her. "I'll clean it later, probably, maybe... What's for breakfast?" She ate the last bit of the crust in her hand after she spoke, wiping her hand on her shirt to get the crumbs off.

He couldn't really understand why she chose to eat such disgusting food. Was there something green on that crust? It wouldn't be a surprise if a new species of bacteria started growing in that trash heap of a room.

As he walked back to the kitchen, three pieces of toast popped from the toaster with a ding. He moved the liquid egg around the pan, scraping the solid bits from the bottom so they wouldn't burn. "Bacon, eggs, toast," he listed off, placing a paper towel over a plate before plopping the strips of meat onto it.

He placed the bacon on the table next to the jam jar, then began buttering the toast. Every so often, he would move the eggs around with the spatula. Cutting all three pieces in half with a single cut (something he felt a minuscule amount of pride in) He added the halves to the growing collection of food at the table. The eggs were nearly done, so he took two plates from a cabinet. "No orange juice. We're out of everything but water."

Plating the eggs, he placed them on the table across from each other, then went to grab two cups. Filling them with water (no ice had been made), he sat those next to the plates, then sat himself in front of the food.

Alaura stepped into the kitchen as he listed off their soon to be breakfast, leaning on the wall with yet another yawn escaping her lips. Bacon, eggs and toast? Well, that was a hell of a lot better than stale pizza crust, she'd have to admit that much, and it smelled delicious. John wasn't a terrible cook, either, and she often looked forward to whatever dish he was going to prepare. She'd have to give him the money to go shopping later, though, as she didn't plan on drinking straight water for any extended period of time. It was bland and tasteless, she never did like it to begin with, not to mention picking up more groceries to fill the fridge.

She mentally shrugged at the thought, taking a seat at the table in order to prepare to eat, obviously still hungry despite having just ate a pizza crust. She'd usually steal the plate and take it back to her room, which she probably would have done after a few bits and a small conversation if her eyes hadn't wandered to the mans sleeve. What the...? What did he get himself into this time? It didn't look like a normal wound, but it resembled a dog bite. John, she asked, a slight hint of concern in her voice, what happened?

He had a piece of toast in his mouth when she asked the question. Swallowing the slightly too large bits in his mouth, he coughed a bit and answered, "Nothing. I just had to scout the area and I didn't realize there were dogs." He had to take a drink, since swallowing the dry food had made his throat itch. "I didn't leave any blood there; I found a rag and tied it up as soon as I got inside. You should be able to get in their system, too. I plug in the drive like you said."

Pushing around a piece of egg, he concerned she would keep pushing the issue. "It's fine, really. It doesn't even hurt." That was a lie, but he didn't want her to worry. The wounds weren't serious, even if they were deep. In a few days, his arm would be none the worse for wear. There was no point in making a fuss over it. He grabbed the jam jar and unscrewed the top, offering it to her to try and change the subject.

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, a look of slight concern still on her face, but she was able to penetrate his facade rather easily within the first few moments of him explaining what had happened. That bit about it not hurting was an obvious lie. She'd known him long enough to understand that much, at least. Still, he was usually more careful than that, to think the dog even managed to get a hold of him was rather surprising. She waved her hand to dismiss the offer of the jam jar as she reached for a piece of toast.

Alright, then. Just...be more careful in the future, alright? We can't afford hospital bills. That might have came out wrong, a bit more harsh than she intended, to be honest, something she only noticed after the words had already slipped free, but nonetheless she was sure he would understand what she meant by it. She had trouble expressing herself in situations like these, but that didn't mean she didn't truly care for his well-being.

I'll break into their systems after we eat...and take a look at your arm. She finished talking by lifting and taking a crunchy bite of the toast.

The jam defense wasn't working. He placed it back on the table, unsure of what she would do now that the distraction hadn't worked. Fortunately, she didn't seem too upset. The thought of not having enough money -with the ability to steal quite literally as much money as they could ever need- seemed far fetched, forcing him to quirk a brow.

"My arm is fine," he said again. "I took care of it as soon as I got back." The wounds looked a lot worse than they actually were, but it was sewn up and washed out. It wasn't his first time fixing himself, after all. He was more concerned with seeing what they were trying to get this time. Hopefully, it wasn't hacking the systems of a shipping company to send the rarest collectible what-have-you to their stores like last time.

The hacker leaned back in her chair as she ate the last of her toast in a few large bites, piling a bit of the eggs on top of it throughout the process, then took a sip of her water, casting a flat stare toward John across the table. If he was going to insist that it was fine, then why should she push the subject? It wouldn't be her fault if the arm became useless anyway, right? She shrugged to herself, setting the cup of water down. "Fine, then. Just don't come crawling to me if it gets infected or something."

She left her finger around the rim of the cup, boredly circling it as her mind jumped to another subject. The system wont be that hard to crack, especially with the device installed. It's not like they a heavily secured framework anyway. Either way, this should be a big enough job to give us a decent reward."

He speared a strip of bacon on the end of his fork and chewed the end. "Who exactly are these people?" he asked. Their usual jobs had a large variance as far as targets went. One day it was the idle rich sitting pretty on their millions, the next it was a struggling company about to lose the last of their money whether they interfered or not. At the very least, they were certainly large animal enthusiasts. Not just because of the dogs; there were stuffed game and skins all around the mansion. Walking through a room was like a stroll through a hanging rug display.

She placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm, glancing off to the side with a rather bored expression. The people they were targeting weren't anything special, espeically compared to some of her previous victims, like the FBI, but the person who hired her seemed to put crippling this man at the highest of priorities. The price she was offering was more than enough to catch the hackers interest, so she accepted the job.

The one we're directly targeting is a famous big-game hunter who's made a name for himself worldwide. His names Jack Daryl Norton. He apparently started an organization, the World Federation of Hunters, and hosts large hunting competitions. Nothing out of the ordinary on the outside, for sure, but what happens behind closed doors have made the people who want his info rather angry. He's apparently been using endangered animals as game for his hunts and, due to his connections, have been slipping under the radar.

She sat up, taking a pause as she drank a bit more of her water. PETA is especially pissed off, but since he's practically untouchable to those people due to his illegal activities being very well hidden, they can't do much aside from meager threats. So crippling him from the inside is about the only way to go about this without going overboard.

That explained the fur festival going on in that house. "You're in, so where do we go from there?" Killing wasn't something he was opposed to, but hunting endangered animals was a step too far. Animals weren't evil or corrupt or anything like humans could be; they just act on instincts. Hunting them, especially ones that were already dying off, was cowardly and disgusting.

Finishing the last of his food, he took the plate, utensils, and cup over to the sink. Placing them next to the dirty pans and cooking implements, he finally removed the dirtied and ripped shirt, tossing it into the trash can. The sewn portions on his forearm had turned red, but it seemed to be in the process of healing.

Moments later, he remembered Alaura was in the room. Was that awkward? Embarrassing? It was all platonic between them, of course, but it might still be strange for him to appear shirtless in the living area. He'd probably feel that way if they were in the opposite situation. He was thinking too hard about this. "I'm going to go find a shirt," he said finally after a short pause.

She literally gulped down what little was left of her breakfast and water as if she were apart of an eating contest or something, before placing them back on the table. She was lazy, that much was certain, and taking the dishes a whole ten feet to the sink was far too much trouble. She thought about what he said as she ate. She had already planned where they would go from here.

She was going to break into their security mainframe and siphon all the information regarding his illegal activities, then leak all the information she could to local media and internet sources with the proof attached to it, followed by breaking into the WFH's and Jack Nortons bank account to bleed them both dry. Cruel, maybe, but it's not like he deserved any real sympathy. The guy made his living off of killing already dying animals.

However, before she could explain all of this, she noticed John and his shirtless self. Awkward? Yes. Strange? Yes. Slightly out of place? Very. She sighed. "You...go do that. I'm going to go get to work on toppling a major game hunting organization." She pushed herself away from the table, leaving the dishes as they were, and headed back to her room; cracking her knuckles for the inevitable typing that was about to come.

He entered his room, producing a new shirt from the drawer. This one was a forest green color. It wasn't red, but it would do. Buttoning it two buttons from the collar, he went to tidy the kitchen, expecting it to be dirtied upon his return. This suspicion proved true, as his roommate's plate and such were still were still on the table.

Stacking the dirtied items, he placed them in the sink, wetting a rag to wipe down the table. Clearing and cleaning the last of the food scraps, he gave the dishes a pre-wash before letting the machine do the rest. Drying his hands, he went down the hall to see what he would need to do -if anything- to speed the situation along. He grabbed a paper cleaning mask from below the sink, just in case she'd forgotten there was the stench of rotting animal in that room and that cleaning was in order.

Alaura had successfully waded through the piles of trash that had been strewn about her room and made it to her chair, which she proceeded to sit on in a crouched position with her feet pulled under her. A odd way of sitting, that was true, but it was something commonly done by her. Now at her computer, the hacker cracked her knuckles once more and went to work her computer magic. The windows that were previously showing were all closed now, and more replaced them. Though these weren't chat boxes, these numerous small windows were filled with lines of code and data, each of which were going to play a role in accomplishing what she had set out to do.

Right, let's get to it then.

Her slender fingers danced across the keyboard in deft blurs of motion, causing her monitor to spring to life. She'd open up a portal first, not like the ones her friend could, but one within the sea of data and connect to the device John had already connected to the WFH mainframe. This would allow her to siphon and mine their data, copy and save it to the device, and then delete the main files while extracting the saved ones to her own computer.

This would effectively clear all data and information the company had saved with her being the only one with copies. Once that was done, which would only take a few moments given her skill with a computer, she'd begin leaking it to various sites on the web, including the news feeds.

Placing the mask securely on his face, he entered the room. Taking careful steps so as not to step on anything wet, sharp, or cheese-dusted, he made his way to the computer, as well. Standing behind Alaura, he watched as she infiltrated the computer systems as easily as he would enter a building, understanding none of what was happening.

"This is going to bring them down?" he asked, the mask giving him a touch of Bane in his voice. Remembering the disappointing ending to a once-great movie franchise, he sighed to himself and shook his head.

Rolling her eyes as she noticed her partner enter the room from the corner of her eye, she honestly thought he was overreacting with the mask. It hadn't gotten to that point yet, had it? Either way, he was being overly dramatic about it. Never missing a beat with her typing despite glancing away for a moment, she entered a few more codes; this time hacking her way into numerous live streams and new's feeds.

"It should put out enough backlash to cripple the organization. They did commit highly frowned upon activities after all. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to put someone who used panda's as target practices out of business?"

A few more strides across the keyboard and it was done; information leaking through various news feeds that overtook the current broadcast, numerous livestreams had their footage of games or whatever media they were showing replaced with information of illegal game hunting, and numerous other sites throughout the internet. He may have been able to hide his activities from the police and even keep witnesses quiet with bribes or crueler methods, but once something is put on the internet it never goes away.

"If this works out the way we want it too, he should be getting nice publicity soon."

Numbers and letters everywhere on the screen. The streams seemed to prove the work they'd done, since the information was being displayed in their place. What this one dirty person could do with a computer was always fascinating to see. He'd have to make something good for dinner as a reward.

Can't marvel at technological wizardry all day, though. "I'm going to go get food. I'm going to start some laundry before I go, so get what you need washed together before I get back." He left the room after that, returning to his to retrieve the worn leather coat from its place inside the bottom drawer of his dresser. The knives were in the pockets, as always. Strapping his watch to his wrist, he checked the time, noting it to be 11:14 before leaving to collect his clothes at the end of the hall (he kept a basket there for his own use).

Alaura shrugged, waving her friend off without looking away from the screen. "Yeah, yeah. I'll collect them after I finish here.." However, despite saying that, chances were that she wouldn't have moved from that spot even by the time he'd return. She was too busy, or having too much fun, or both, she didn't know; she was going to finish though. Alaura was going to make sure this guy was on the national news by noon, and international by dusk.

Continuing to hammer away at various keys, the continued spreading of the mans misdeeds across the world-wide web only sped up as a result. News channels were forced to chance their story as it was forcibly overtaken by the woman behind the computer, internet blogs were being filled with numerous files and reports, and livestreams became hosts for an unbelievably cruel story about a man who shot pandas. Truly the world was a dark place.

However, it wasn't long into her continued ruination of this mans life did she remember something extremely important. Something she forgot at breakfast. Leaning back in her computer chair despite her oddly-crouched way of sitting, she shouted. "Don't forget the soda!"

There was no pile of clothing waiting for pickup. He sighed; a John's work was never done. Reentering the room, he was forced to collect the clothing on the floor himself. Shirts, pants, socks, underwear (which he collected with a buffer of other clothing by the tips of his fingers) were tossed in with his own, making sure everything was of dark coloration to be able to wash them at the same time.

Basket full, he began to leave, stopping outside the apartment door to open the "money drawer" in the kitchen, grabbing a few $20 and $50 bills for food. Leaving, he made his way to the communal washing machine. Tossing the clothes in, he threw in a scoop of soap and started the washer, leaving his basket beside it. By the time he returned, they would likely be ready to dry.

Ruination. That's all she brought upon this man, with the power of the internet, no less. The mans organization would no doubt be on the front page of every newspaper and on every news channel by the nine o'clock news, and that would be the end of it all. Illegal activities exposed, profits taken directly from their bank account, and the personal information of a number of employees were leaked to various underground sites.

The power of the internet, a true weapon in the hands of those who understood how to properly utilize it.

However, this wasn't all that difficult to accomplish for someone of Alaura's skill; she cracked CIA and FBI databases as a hobby, after all. A company like this was literally comparable to childsplay at this point. Currently, after having single-handedly toppled this horrid, panda-abusing organization, Alaura sat leaned back in her chain, heavy rock music blasting through her headphones at the highest possible volume as she stared at the screen.

Plastered on her multi-screen set up were a number of chatboxes. Some of them were continuing on about said organization, others were talking about things that would make 4chan users cringe and blush. All in all, it was an average day for her.

Pushing open the front doors to the apartment complex, a bag in each arm with a third perched precariously in the middle, John dodged past another tenant to make it back to the laundry. As he'd expected, the washing was finished. Placing the bags on the floor, he unloaded the wet clothes into the dryer and started the machine before returning to his floor.

Feeling the groceries begin to sway in an unsteady grip, paper bags beginning to rip, he had no time to get the keys to unlock the door. Moving his hand out as far as he could while still being able to hold the backs, a circle appeared before him, an image of the kitchen within it. Quickly stepping through, he placed all three bags on the counter before they could fall, the portal closing behind him. Abuse of his powers, maybe, but broken eggs would be worse.

He had been correct in assuming things were forgotten the first time around; many things, to be precise. Most importantly was ketchup, which actually made him question as to how he expected to serve a proper loaf of meat without it. In addition, the ketchup (rather awkwardly) reminded him of another product Alaura was in need of, which he uncomfortably bought.

He took out the various items and placed them in the proper area: Ice cream for the freezer, carrots in the refrigerator, canned corn (JotenCraft, since that's what he was told to buy for whatever reason) in the cabinet. It would be a few hours before cooking began, so he placed the meat inside the refrigerator, as well.

Compressing the bags and placing them under the sink to use at various other situations, the last item left on the counter were the hygiene products. Doing his best not to be immature, he walked down the hall and towards the girl's room. Opening the door, he announced his return. "I'm back. Here." He tossed the box into the middle of the floor.

Absorbed in the activity currently happening on her computer screen and with the surrounding outside noise blocked out by her blaring music, she hardly noticed John's return. Sitting crouched in her chair - as per her odd habit - her fingers danced over the keyboard in a mere blur of speed as she went to work on her current political argument she was having with one of the many people within the chat.

It was a pass time of hers, or maybe another habit that helped cure her boredom, but nonetheless was a rather intense argument. However, she was pulled back into reality when she caught her room door open out of the corner of her eye, and gave a cautionary glance before realizing her roommate had finally made it back. She stopped her typing as a result, removing her headphones in the process. "What took you so long? You remembered the soda, right? Please tell me you didn't forget the soda."

"It's in the fridge getting cold," he answered. "Don't eat anything. I'm going to start cooking in about an hour. It's meatloaf." He was a bit proud of his meatloaf and wasn't afraid to let it show. He wasn't sure what else to make, but he ended up with three bags for a reason.

"How's the rich guy doing?" he asked with a meaning closer to, "Did he kill himself yet?" It was tough to get in there, so he was expecting good results when it was all over.

Alaura groaned inwardly at the mention of meatloaf. It was rather obvious she wasn't a major fan of the meal, and she'd prefer to order another pizza if it were possible. Then again, that would have made the entire trip John had made pointless, and while she was a slob in some sense of the word, given the trash strewn about her room, she wasn't going to waste even more cash on more food. Thankfully, however, John did remember the soda, so she could at least use that to wash it down. She turned her gaze back the computer screen for a moment, waving away at John with a nonchalant motion of her hand, ignoring the thrown box and letting it mix with the trash that already littered the room. She'd retrieve it later, since they weren't needed at the moment.

"He's not rich anymore," she said, a small smirk appearing on her lips. "Still haven't gotten a video feed of him jumping off the roof of his building or an interview on the news though, so it's safe to assume he's either not found out about it yet or he's taking it extremely well. The latter of which I highly doubt. He does kill panda's, after all, and we all know anyone who does that can't take something like this in what can be considered a "well manner." She paused a moment, sliding her headphones back over her head but leaving the ear facing John uncovered. "I expect to see the news stations blow up in the next five or ten minutes, at the very least."